


Neville gonna give you up

by saranghai



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: 5+1 Things, Fluff, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-11
Updated: 2019-09-11
Packaged: 2020-10-14 13:30:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,120
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20601602
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saranghai/pseuds/saranghai
Summary: Five times the Whomping Willow saved Neville, and one time he returned the favour.





	Neville gonna give you up

**Author's Note:**

> The Whomping Willow  

> 
> The Whomping Willow is an extremely rare, sentient type of willow tree. It is a deciduous tree, part of the genus Salix. It is native to forests in Scotland and England. Its name comes from its violent tendency. The tree is known to attack anything that comes near its branches. Its long limbs are extremely dexterous and function like arms. Damage to its branches must therefore receive the same treatment as human limbs. It has a thick, twisting trunk and similarly large roots. Able to be used as either an offensive or defensive weapon, the Whomping Willow is a very effective guard. However, the tree contains a small knot near its base that, when pressed, will temporarily immobilise it.  
The most famous recorded case of a Whomping Willow tree is one planted in the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry in 1971, used to disguise a secret passageway linked to the Shrieking Shack in Hogsmeade. It is still alive to date. 

Neville was a pumpkin. Or at least, he would be soon, if the footsteps behind him were any indication. Last time it had been after flying class- the Slugulus Eructo slammed into his chest in a blur of green and then he was pressing his face into the grass, feeling his stomach convulse as they forced themselves out of his mouth. Neville struggled, but the only sounds he managed were choking retches, unheard over the chatter as his classmates walked away. In that moment he had almost been glad. Nobody could see him behind the broom shed, and it was better to have tears blurring his vision than watch the slugs writhe beside him.  


“Hey, mudblood! Stop running away! What sort of Gryffindor are you?”  


The sneer dragged Neville back into reality. Malfoy and his two goons were still behind him; Neville willed himself to move faster. He suddenly wished he had never left the greenhouses. It had been peaceful, quiet, and herbology seemed to be the least magical subject there was. Neville made a mental note to check where Malfoy was the next time he left. He had never even heard of a pumpkin spell, but Malfoy probably knew enough dark magic to do anything he wanted. He could be stuck for hours, days, weeks… Nobody would miss Neville enough to find him.  


A glance back revealed Malfoy impossibly close now, his wand clutched in his fingers, wicked smirk on his face. Each step was knocking the breath out of Neville’s burning chest. Rapidly consumed by a wave of dread, he realised he was heading towards the Great Lake. Oh god, I’m going to be trapped, he thought.  


Suddenly, a large tree seemed to materialise in the distance. The s trangest sense of protection radiated from it. Its twisted branches almost waved in welcome. Almost instinctively, Neville propelled himself towards it. Teeth grit, arms heavy, he only dared to breathe when he had scrambled into the nook of the tree. Malfoy and his friends weren’t behind him, though. Turning, Neville realised that they were standing a few feet away. He watched Malfoy’s eyes widen, stepping back once, twice-  


“Merlin’s beard, it’s the Whomping Willow!” At that moment, the branches around him leapt forward, sleek hunters pouncing on their prey. One whistled overhead, wind ruffling his hair as it passed.  


“Run!” Malfoy yelped as he stumbled away. Moments later, a particularly thick branch cracked down upon his back. Neville tried unsuccessfully to stifle a laugh as Malfoy flew through the air. Crabbe and Goyle rushed to follow him. The branches continued to wave menacingly until they had fled into the distance. Bark rippling in the sunlight, Neville continued to watch the branches as they retreated. Shaking itself, a few loose leaves fluttered to the ground before they settled into their former positions. Neville realised he was still clutching its trunk like a lifeline.  


Stiffening, he shuffled back onto solid ground. “I- I, uh, thank you very much for protecting me… Whomping Willow, right? I can go myself, please don’t chase me- ah!”  


One of the smaller branches was moving towards him. Just as Neville prepared himself to run, he felt the branch stop against his head. He watched its leaves flutter as it moved back and forth, almost as if it was tousling his hair. Was this how trees bonded? I really shouldn’t be surprised anymore, Neville thought. There were talking portraits and moving statues after all. After waiting a few moments, he shifted away. He studied the Whomping Willow, wondering if its face was on the trunk, but found nothing other than the gentle furrowing of its bark. A soft nudge on his shoulder reminded him of the time. The dim afternoon glow was fading into night.  


Neville straightened his robes and stepped away from the tree. “Th-thank you again for helping me, Whomping Willow!” He bowed, feeling rather foolish, but the branches rustled in response. As he began the walk back to the Great Hall, Neville couldn’t help but feel like he had just made a strange new friend.

* * *

The second time it happened, Neville was (thankfully) no longer being chased by Malfoy. After Trevor had managed to escape once again (before potions of all subjects, Neville spent the entire lesson scouring the classroom hoping he wouldn’t appear. As much trouble as it was finding him again, he didn’t want Trevor to become potion ingredients at the hands of Snape) he had taken to keeping Trevor in his pocket. Hermione had offered to help one afternoon, uttering an unfamiliar charm at his robes. She seemed as surprised as Neville when it worked, but it kept the fabric clean and most importantly Trevor in as well. Until now, at least.  


Neville had already checked his previous locations- the corners of the common room, along the hallways, lapped the quidditch pitch and even the Astronomy tower. Trevor seemed adept at avoiding detection; Neville had only found him at the tower after a boy walked in muttering that a “stupid toad” had ruined his date. Returning at last to the common room, Neville sighed as he collapsed into the welcome plush of an armchair. Hermione glanced up from her book beside him.  


“Still haven’t found Trevor?” He shook his head.  


“Have you checked near the lake? There’s still a bit of time before curfew. He might be there as he’s, you know, a toad.” Neville must have winced as she frowned apologetically, fingers beginning to worry the edge of the page. “Sorry, I would come, but I’m researching prima materia in alchemy. And I really do need to finish this essay tonight.”  


“It’s okay, I’ll go by myself.” An uneasy feeling settled into his stomach as Neville trudged out of the common room. Just a little walk, he told himself. The crisp air brushed against his cheeks as he stepped outside. Sighing, he resigned himself and began to wander.  


An hour later Trevor was still nowhere in sight. Neville had stubbornly avoided the forest so far, but now the toad was no doubt buried somewhere in the foliage. He found himself beginning to enjoy the walk as the few students that were nearby began heading back to the castle. As Neville watched, the setting sun spilled vibrant colours across the water. Painted a warm yellow, the lake rippled gently against the horizon. The bubbling chatter of the day had faded. Instead, Neville was accompanied by the quiet murmur of nature. Looking around, Neville realised he was heading towards a familiar tree. Raising a hand, he waved tentatively, then grinned when the Whomping Willow shifted a branch and waved back.  


“Uh, hey Whomping Willow.” He greeted uncertainly. Neville wasn’t quite sure how to talk to a sentient tree, let alone one that had saved his life.  
Briefly, he wondered if the tree really understood him, but it began to move again. It seemed to dip in agreement, then shook a branch at the sky, leaves fluttering gracefully at the action. A few moments passed before it turned questioningly back to Neville. His smile turned sheepish when he realised what the tree was trying to say.  


“I know, it’s getting pretty late. I’ll go back soon. I’m trying to find my frog. He’s yellow, has a few brown spots… he probably looks like a lot of frogs, but- have you seen him?”  


To his surprise, the tree twisted, a long branch swaying to direct him into the forest. Swallowing nervously, Neville eyed the darkness before clumsily drawing his wand. Thank god Harry had helped him in charms. With a small swish and a “Lumos” the tip of his wand began to glow.  


The grass crinkling underfoot seemed deafening now. As he drew closer to the edge of the forest, darkness settled around him like an impermeable veil. The trees here were gnarled, spidery roots sprawling webs on the ground. He peered in, trembling, and sure enough spotted a toad amongst the bushes. At least Trevor seemed to be as terrified as he was. Slowly, Neville crept closer, watching the shadows slither around him. Hardly daring to breathe, he bent down and cradled Trevor in trembling hands. Despite his body screaming to run, turning his back seemed to be an impossible task. The tree beside him was marred- were those claw marks? The leaves were rustling ominously. A growl rumbled beside him- startling, his gaze met slitted, amber eyes. Terror paralysed him.  


Was that a wolf? He was trapped, the only spell he could cast was Lumos, for Merlin’s sake- I’m going to die here, he thought. The eyes narrowed, muzzle pulling back to reveal wicked fangs. Neville’s wand light wavered. Abruptly, they were plunged into a sea of black. Trevor croaked in alarm. Something brushed the back of his neck. Screaming, Neville’s limbs jerked into action. Turning, he stumbled through the trees, hot breath snapped at his heels. With a yell, he burst out of the forest. A branch swept over his head, and Neville nearly cried in relief. A blood curdling howl, then a crack behind him, sent him running faster. With a gasp, he flung himself forward until he was close enough to cling to the Whomping Willow. Turning, he saw several branches pummelling a mass of dark fur. After a few more thuds, the creature was flung, yelping, back into the forest.  


The Whomping Willow swung back towards him. Unable to hold back his sobs, Neville ducked his head. “Thank- thank you for saving me. I almost- I’m never going in there again.” The tree bowed, branches curving to cover him in a leafy embrace. In all his time at Hogwarts, Neville had never felt safer. After a few moments and a croak of protest from Trevor, he reluctantly stepped back. The Whomping Willow straightened as well, pulling back all but one branch.  


“I’m- I’m going to go back now. Is there anything I can help you with? You’ve saved me twice now, and-” At this, the branch steered him towards the castle and nudged him forward. Sniffling, Neville laughed. “Goodnight, Whomping Willow.”  


Seemingly satisfied, the tree settled back into its former position. After that day, Trevor always stayed inside the castle when he escaped.

* * *

The third time was coincidentally in Neville’s third year. It started with a book. As the years progressed, Neville had taken to visiting the library in his spare time. Reading was a good hobby to have, he had concluded, and it also happened to be one he enjoyed with the Whomping Willow. After the fateful day in the forest, Neville found himself drawn to the tree more and more often until eventually he spent every afternoon under its sweeping branches. Though Neville had grown to appreciate the quiet company, he was not quite sure whether to be concerned or not. People didn’t normally have a tree as their best friend, after all. But Neville was happy with the Whomping Willow. And it made him feel just a tiny bit special when it scared off other students but let him sit close.  


But back to the book. Hidden among countless dusty tomes, its silver cover had caught his eye. Neville was not afraid to admit that he had a passion for Herbology. Winogrand’s Wondrous Water Plants was filled with wonders, but one particular entry caught his eye.  


The Aurum: This plant is found in large bodies of fresh water. It is most commonly identified by its gold-tipped leaves. Due to its glowing roots, this plant is only located at the bottom of lake and river beds. These roots are renowned for their medicinal quality- they are rumoured to counteract and protect the mind against Imperius, as well as restore the consumer’s sanity.  


Neville froze, captivated by the shifting diagram of the Aurum. The best mediwitches and wizards had already done all they could for his parents. He knew the chance of this obscure plant helping was infinitesimal, but… What if it could? Fuelled by a spark of hope, he had run to Professor Sprout. Neville’s extra hours at the greenhouses must have worked- he left with a sprig of gillyweed easily enough.  


“I’m going to be fine, you don’t have to worry! I’ll be careful, I promise.”  


The Whomping Willow was swaying in concern. Neville huffed as he shrugged off his robes. Looking around, he sighed in relief. There were no students nearby due to the Whomping Willow; unlike some of his classmates, he preferred to be modest. Nothing else for it, then, he thought.  


“I’ll be right back. Make sure Trevor doesn’t escape, okay?” The tree seemed to sigh, then dipped its branches in acknowledgement. Stepping out of the Whomping Willow’s shade, Neville walked to the edge of the lake. The gillyweed tasted foul, leaving a bitter residue as it slithered down his throat, but the skin at his neck flapped open into gills. From there, diving into the lake only seemed natural. He didn’t even feel cold, and though the sun was beaming overhead, he was certain the lake had been freezing a second ago.  


He shook his head, turning to begin swimming towards the bottom. The shallow blue deepened to a murky green. Shoals of fish flitted by, darting through the crumbled ruins of structures long lost in time. Pushing his way through the twisting plants, Neville searched for a hint of gold. He didn’t have to swim far before spotting one. Relieved, he followed the trail of gilded leaves and carefully pulled at the stem. True to its description, when Neville unearthed them, the roots cast a soft glow through the water. This was the Aurum.  


Neville held it tightly as he swam up, relieved to head back towards the light. A sudden movement beside him made him stop. The thick shadows around him revealed nothing, and with a racing heart he began swimming again. Claws closed around his neck. Yelping, the sound bubbled unheard through the water. His free hand scrabbled against the brittle fingers. The grip was unrelenting- his gills were covered, he couldn’t breathe- he couldn’t pry the creature away from him. Gritting his teeth, Neville threw his arm backwards instead. His hand connected with scaly skin, writhing tentacles trying in vain to push him away. Grindylow, Neville realised. Merlin’s beard, I don’t have my wand!  


The claws around Neville tightened, darkness beginning to frame his vision. Dozens of thorny teeth clamped down hard on his arm. Trying not to scream, Neville grabbed blindly at the thrashing creature. Chest burning, he gathered his remaining strength and twisted. The creature tore away at last with a gurgled screech. Finally free, he pushed the limp Grindylow away, praying it wouldn’t chase him. His relief was short lived- the few breaths of oxygen he got were rapidly getting shallower. The gillyweed was wearing off.  


Neville paddled harder, limbs sluggish and weak, heart thudding uselessly against his chest. The light at the surface was close but unreachable. The murky darkness was rearing up again, a greedy beast ready to consume him. Neville ignored the scarlet blossoming from his arm, the biting cold that numbed his bite. He was so close now- his lungs were straining, threatening to burst from his chest- Just as Neville was about to give up, he felt a dark shape swoop towards him. Was the Grindylow back? Panicking, he flailed in the water. Neville was about to push away when his fingers connected with a rough, familiar texture. The Whomping Willow. Hanging on tightly to the supple branch, he felt the bark flex under his fingers. It was pulling him up. A second later, he broke the surface at last. Taking in shuddering, gasping breaths, he let the branch drag him onto the shore.  


Neville collapsed, boneless. The sun was warm against his back, the fresh air a blessing. His arm throbbed, blood running in rivulets down from the deep bite. He wracked his memory- no, Grindylows weren’t venomous. He would be fine. A concerned rustle overhead made him turn, drawing in another rasping breath.  


“Thanks, Willow. I’m all-” A cough interrupted his words, and he gingerly raised a hand, feeling his sore neck. “I’ll be alright.”  


Hovering anxiously, the Whomping Willow reluctantly lowered its branches. Neville hauled himself to his feet and stumbled to the tree. Propping the Aurum against its trunk, Neville fished his wand out of his crumpled robes. He pointed it at his arm (his wand hand had been bitten, Neville hoped he could still cast), swished clumsily and muttered “episkey”. Wincing at the stinging, he watched the wounds close slowly, leaving faint raised marks. It wasn’t much, but it would do. A scourgify and siccesso later, he was clean and (mostly) dry. Neville sighed in relief, beginning to get dressed again.  


“Thanks for saving me again, Willow.” Glancing up, the tree seemed to shake its branches at him in reprimand.  


“I was attacked by a Grindylow! I- I didn’t have my wand,” Neville clarified. He had never seen the Whomping Willow so upset. A small branch smacked him on his arm. “I know, I know, I won’t go into the lake again. I got the Aurum, at least.”  


He held it up, watching as it glowed in the sunlight. He turned back to the tree. “Willow, do you think this will work?”  
The tree paused for a moment, wet branch mid-wave, before it continued shaking. Droplets flew through the air. Neville supposed that was the tree equivalent of ‘I don’t know’. He bid goodbye to the Whomping Willow and received a grudging wave in return.  


The plant doesn’t work, of course it doesn’t. His parents still stare at him with blank eyes, and Neville continues their weekend visit as usual, ignoring the threat of tears. His gran doesn’t say anything, only leads him away quietly, and the Willow somehow knows as well (it drapes soft leaves over Neville’s shoulder and pats his back when he returns).

* * *

Neville was both proud and relieved that he didn’t need any more saving until his fifth year. He had broken curfew, yes, but he had a very good reason for it. Joining Dumbledore’s Army was the best decision he had ever made. A few months after finally casting Expelliarmus, he’d discovered he had a particularly strong protego. It was late; he had stayed back to practice until he could cast it nonverbal. Sure, it might not be the flashiest spell, but Neville was proud.  


Neville’s mood shattered instantly when he heard shuffling behind him- Filch was prowling the halls again. Neville had never wandered around at night. Looking around frantically, he found a window, but nowhere to hide. There were no alcoves nearby (that he knew of) for him to duck into, and he certainly didn’t have time to pace around waiting for the Room of Requirement. A huff told him that Filch was getting closer. It was with great trepidation that Neville approached the window. Easing it open, he looked down at the dizzying drop to the ground.  


Now, Neville normally wouldn’t even consider jumping out of a window, especially not one on the seventh floor. But Filch had Umbridge now. He’d seen the scars on the Harry’s hand after his detentions with Umbridge. And if Neville was going to get into trouble, it wasn’t going to be because he was sneaking around after curfew. Mind made up, he opened the window wider and muttered a hasty ‘molliare’ at the ground. Glowing particles shot from the end of his wand to the ground. Without waiting for them to fade, he swung his legs out of the window, then pushed.  


For a heart wrenching moment he dangled in the air, suspended, then heard a rip of tearing fabric. Neville plummeted, falling free. He hit the ground hard, feeling it give under his weight before snapping back up, as if made of rubber. The air was knocked abruptly out of his chest. I really need to work on my molliare, he thought. Boneless, he lay there with tingling limbs, waiting for his heartbeat to slow and the pain to fade. No, wait- were those footsteps? He grimaced, twisting around. The corner of his robes had been torn off. Merlin’s beard, Neville thought, so much for a stealthy escape.  


He had to run before Filch reached the window and saw him sprawled on the ground. Scrambling to his feet, Neville looked around again. The Whomping Willow was the only place to hide, unless he wanted to take another dive into the lake. Ducking his head, he raced across the grass, praying Filch had yet to see him. The Whomping Willow seemed to sense his approach.  


As Neville ran to the willow, its branches dipped lower behind him, creating a leafy curtain. A few seconds passed, Neville hardly daring to move, before he heard the faint sound of a window slamming closed. Relieved, he collapsed. The willow lowered a slim branch and prodded his shoulder. Neville raised a hand. Still breathless, he absentmindedly ran it over the shifting bark.  


“I’m alright,” he murmured, then paused. “I just jumped out of a window.”  


The thought seemed strangely absurd. Laughing, he sat up briefly, then wriggled over until he found the groove he was looking for. After a (much more careful) molliare, he settled into the welcome feeling of soft plush.  


“Hey, Willow,” Neville wondered, “do you ever sleep?”  


The tree waved the small branch dismissively. That was a no, then.  


“Don’t you get bored out here? I haven’t seen anyone else come by.” There was silence for a few moments, then a gentle rustle as the branch gestured to him. “You’re my best friend too, Willow.”  


Sinking deeper into the cushioned nook, Neville looked up. The stars seemed to smile down at him. Briefly, Neville wondered what life at Hogwarts would be like without Umbridge, without the threat of Death Eaters and You-Know-Who. He reached into his pocket, feeling the Dumbledore’s Army galleon. Neville ran his fingers over the numbers on its side- the phantom feeling of it warming as the numbers changed a small comfort. He sighed.  


“There’s a war coming, you know. Remember back in third year when I went into the lake- for the plant, Aurum, was it? And you had to pull me out. That was for my parents. The death eaters- Lestrange- tortured them until they lost their minds, and I’ve been living with my gran ever since…” He drew in a shuddering breath. “I’m not Harry, I can’t defeat You-Know-Who, but I’m going to make them pay. That’s kind of why I joined Dumbledore’s Army. I just think, it will be enough if we win the war, you know?”  


Looking back down at the Whomping Willow, Neville watched as its leaves swayed back and forth in the warm breeze. “I’m scared, Willow.” He admitted. “What if we don’t win?”  


The question faded, unanswered, swallowed by the night. The Whomping Willow wrapped a branch around him, and Neville stayed until dawn broke over the horizon.

* * *

The fifth time was the final time. Neville was running across the far side of the lake, heading towards the greenhouses. Heart thumping, he clutched the coin- Harry’s previous coin- in his hands. With a press of his fingers, it warmed in his hand, the numbers and letters shifting to Hogwarts, emergency, now. Hopefully everyone would answer- Neville had asked them to stay vigilant. Harry, Hermione and Ron had finally returned. Death Eaters had surrounded the school.  


The grass crunched underfoot as he raced towards Willow. As he passed the tree, it waved, but its branches were rigid and alert. Neville wondered if the tree could sense the darkness and unease that had consumed the school- as a part of Hogwarts, it probably could.  


“Hey, Willow.” Neville slowed, but didn’t stop. He needed to reach the greenhouses and meet Professor Sprout. That was the plan. Abruptly, he realised that the Whomping Willow could still be cursed, harmed, burned- he stopped. “Willow, are you going to be alright?”  


Before he got an answer, the tree’s branches snapped forward violently, whipping to strike something behind him.  


“Avada Kedavra!” Neville turned just as a flash of green exploded violently into the thick branch. Two figures emerged from the forest, wands drawn. Straight for the killing curse, he thought grimly. Wand in hand, he sprung into action.  


“Expelliarmus!” Neville felt a flash of pride when the death eater’s wand flew towards him. Cursing, the man made a futile grab at his wand as the other death eater sent a full body bind flying at his face. Neville twisted out of the way. Casting a protego as the spell whizzed beside him, the death eater did the same just as the willow’s branches crashed down onto his back. There was a crunch, then a thud as the man fell to the ground, a puppet with cut strings. The remaining death eater, wandless, leapt at Neville. A sweeping branch slammed into his side. With a shout, he was sent sprawling onto the ground. Quickly casting petrificus totalus, the two death eaters were out before the battle had even started.  


Neville’s heart soared. Amongst the anxiety, he felt love. He suddenly realised how many times the Whomping Willow had saved him- but there was no time for that now.  
“Thanks Willow, I never should have doubted you.” Its branches waved in pride, then pointed towards Neville. “I know. I have to go now, but I’ll be careful. Stay safe!”  
He turned, running to meet a determined Professor Sprout. When Neville returned with armfuls of Venomous Tentacula, he fought fearlessly for his family and his friends. They win, of course they do- but everyone still sighs in relief when Voldemort finally falls.  


In the celebration that follows everyone swarms Harry, of course they do, but a few congratulate him as well. After being set on fire and killing Nagini with the sword of Gryffindor, Neville wasn’t sure what he expected. He causes a distraction with Luna so Harry and his friends can escape, then slips away himself. He sighs in relief when he sees Willow is safe. They can have their own quiet celebration.

* * *

+1  
After everyone had settled down after the war, Neville decided to become a herbology professor. Professor Sprout- Pomona, he should now call her- had been more than happy to take him on. Life was hardly boring, though, and he had a wonderful view of the lake and Whomping Willow outside his office window. He had just discovered a patch of Parsleep in the Forbidden Forest (Neville still shivered a little when they gathered herbs there, but at least he had dozens of defensive spells up his sleeve now). True to its name, Parsleep juice was useful in particularly potent sleeping potions. But their flowers only bloomed at night.  


That, and the fact that Neville’s classes were in the afternoon, led to him working in the greenhouses alone. With a yawn, he set the jar of freshly squeezed Parsleep juice down at last, peeled off his gloves, and cast a stasis charm. The greenhouses doors clicked closed behind him and locked with a wave of his wand.  


The school was always quiet at midnight. The castle was bathed in silver, and Neville ran his eyes over the stone. There was the astronomy tower- the top had crumbled under a stray curse in the war, the statues had stood guard to protect students in the great hall, the patches of scarlet stained grass that haunted his dreams, each time coming from a different person. Neville shook his head. The castle had been repaired, the statues back in their place, the ground cleansed with a quick scourgify. Yawning, he relaxed, taking a deep breath- was that smoke?  


Whipping around, Neville instantly snapped awake. Smoke was billowing at the edge of the forest- orange glow dangerously close to the Whomping Willow. Neville had never run so fast in his life. Clutching his wand tight, he grit his teeth as trees flew past him. The Whomping Willow seemed impossibly far away. It was visibly panicked, waving its branches as if to push the fire away- stop, Neville thought desperately, that’s going to make it worse.  


“Aguamenti!” he gasped.. A small jet of water spurted from his wand. The fire barely sizzled, seeming to cackle and roar higher instead. The Whomping Willow reared back- wicked flames were licking their way up its trunk. Neville shook his wand in frustration. “Aguamenti!”  


The stream of water was larger now, but sputtered weakly after a few seconds and stopped again. The heat was almost unbearable- the flames had almost reached him now, still climbing up the Whomping Willow- I need rain, a lot of rain, Neville thought desperately. Then it came to him. Pointing his wand at the sky, Neville gripped it tight, focusing on the image of rolling thunderstorms and endless downpour.  


“Imbersio!”  


One second, two seconds. He raised his wand, ready to cast again, when rain suddenly began bucketing down. The fire hissed and extinguished at last. Neville sighed in relief, blinking water out of his eyes. He was soaked, but the Whomping Willow was safe. He ran to it now, inspecting the damage. The trunk had been charred black on one side- he pressed a hand to it, gently running over the furrowed bark.  


“Willow, are you alright?” He asked anxiously. The tree seemed to slump against him. He wrapped his arms around its trunk, hugging tight. After a few seconds. Neville reluctantly stepped back. He shivered again. He was soaked. A rather impressive raincloud had been summoned in his haste, but at least it had done its job. Wand almost slipping out of his fingers, Neville cast a quick Meteolojinx Recanto. A siccesso dried his clothes, and Neville stepped away from the tree again.  


“Will you be okay?” The branches dipped in a familiar gesture- yes. Neville opened his mouth to speak again before he was interrupted by a yawn.  


“I have to go now, Willow. But I’ll come back tomorrow morning.” He promised. “Goodnight, Willow.”  


Weeks pass. The burns on Willow’s trunk fade with each appliance of dittany (turns out dittany can heal plants, just less effectively than it does humans), and soon the tree is cheerfully swinging its branches again. Later, when he’s smearing it onto the last burn mark, Neville realises that the tree has saved him five times. He's never counted before. Laughing, he tells Willow this and they continue helping each other. Willow catches him when he falls off his broom (six for Willow), he bandages Willow’s branches after a run in with a wild Ford Anglia (two for him). Neville stops counting after that.


End file.
